Poor Danny
by juho69
Summary: The title says it all.


POOR DANNY

_I ought to explain that this story is seventh in a sequence and should be read after Coping, and before Danny Remorseful._

He had been there five weeks. Martin had become even more his brother than his friend and it seemed to Danny as if he had lived with him forever. When he was to look back on the dreadful events of that day, Danny was to reflect innumerable times how lucky he was to have such wonderful, non-judgemental friends as Jack, Vivian and Martin.

The day had started ordinarily enough. Early afternoon, Jack had called them together to announce the details of the latest missing person.

"Amanda Parkinson. Seventeen years old…high school student…left for school this morning as usual – she never arrived…"

Vivian was to interview the girl's family; Martin was to visit her school; and Danny was to visit a wine bar, a rather seedy one, where she had been seen on several occasions, the last two nights before she disappeared.

Sitting in a bar, observing customers and goings-on, this was nothing new. Danny had done this before, the disappearances of Annie Miller and Colleen McGrath coming to mind. With a shudder, he hoped this case would have a different, happier outcome.

"Hey, pretty boy."

Danny regarded the man, who had just sidled up to sit beside him, with a modicum of distaste. Experience in his job made him recognise immediately what he was: a pimp.

"On your own?"

Danny took a sip of his water. "Yes, thanks, and that's how I want it to stay." No point being anything but firm and graceless with these guys right from the start.

The man grinned – a sort of self-satisfied, sickly grin. "Well, before you make that a definite decision, you might want to consider employing the services of a lady whom I'm honoured to represent."

Danny half-smiled and shook his head. As a matter of course, he glanced down at the card the man held out, then started to look away.

Immediately, he did a double-take. What was on the card held his attention absolutely and undividedly.

NO, thought poor Danny. NO, I can't be seeing this.

This just CAN'T be true. NO.

But, it is…

"You see, this girl's different," the man continued, obviously oblivious to the growing horror in Danny's mind. "As well as being a real foxy lady, she's also got brains. Used to be a private investigator or something as well – but none of her co-workers ever guessed what her _real_ line of work was. And, you know what?" The man leaned forward towards Danny who was frozen with shock. "Between you and me – she even managed to hoodwink one of them into marrying her."

Danny's stomach began to churn. He took a deep breath and forced a smile.

"Very neat," he heard himself say. "I bet the poor guy was gutted."

"Oh, he was. Cried like a baby, apparently." The man grinned. "She couldn't stop laughing when she told us all. Now she's left him – and she plans to milk him for all he is worth. What a half-brain he must have been, not to realise."

"Yes," answered Danny, completely numb. "He must have been." Rousing from his shock a little, he asked,

"Could I have a couple of those, please – for my friends?"

The pimp grinned again. "Sure." He delved into his inside pocket and slid three more cards across the table. Danny compelled himself to look at them, hoping against hope that it was all a mistake. But, they were identical to the first one. Each glance felt like a punch to Danny's stomach, each punch made him feel sicker each time.

"Whenever you feel the need, just give Lena a call. I'm sure she'd be real pleased to meet such a handsome guy as you." That self-satisfied grin once again; and the man was gone.

Helplessly, hopelessly, hardly knowing what he was doing, thoughts of the job in hand all gone, Danny picked up the cards, shoved them into his pocket and wandered dazedly out into the street.

The fresh air assuaged his lungs and awoke his senses with a snap. Realisation of what had just happened hit him like a smack in the face and his stomach churned with revulsion. He retched hard, desperate to emit the swirling sensation of poison which was rising from his stomach. His head spun, he felt dizzy and even sicker. He retched again, this time harder.

_She never loved me. She didn't care about me. She didn't give a toss about the team, either: she didn't even bother to disguise her name! She just used me. She lied to me. She never loved me…_

Trying to control his emotions, Danny took some deep breaths. He wiped his mouth. Looking around, he assessed the situation.

To his left, he noticed a man smoking outside the mini mart a couple of doors along. Automatically, Danny stumbled towards him.

"I'm really sorry – but please could I have a cigarette?"

"Yes – sure." The man was in his early fifties, fairly short and stocky, and he spoke with an unusual lilt which Danny could not place. He offered him the packet. Danny took out a cigarette - his first cigarette for more than ten years. Part of him told him he should not be doing it; but, he so badly needed the shot of smooth tranquillity that he knew it would give him.

He lit it from the man's lighter. He inhaled deeply. The forgotten sensation of narcotic-induced calmness pulled through him. He exhaled slowly, trying to quell his body's trembling.

"You looked like you needed that," the man observed.

"Yeh…sorry…I've had some bad news. My wife left me six weeks ago and I've just found out something dreadful about her. Something she was – doing, and I had no idea." Danny shook his head. "It's just been one thing after another for me, all my life…and now this…" And Danny found himself pouring forth his life history: his parents; Raphie; his addiction; his failed marriage. Danny didn't know who the man was but he felt the sudden desperate need to talk, to somebody, anybody who would listen. The man didn't answer, only moving now and then to flick away the ash from his cigarette.

Finally, when poor Danny had talked himself out, he said,

"Well- I guess it's not really for me to say, pal – but perhaps you're better off without her."

That was the crux. Danny knew he was – but, he just couldn't bring himself to accept it. He started to shake. The man noticed. "Here – take another one." Danny complied with trembling fingers. The man proffered his lighter and they lit up from a shared flame. It was strange how there was almost an universal fellowship of smokers. Danny and this man were perfect strangers, yet here they were, opening their hearts to each other.

The man inhaled deeply; then, he started to speak gently.

"I come from Wales, in the U.K. When I was a boy, I lived in a coal-mining village. In those days, they used to dump the waste coal in tips above the village. One day, one of the tips collapsed. It slid down the mountainside, into the village and buried some houses and the village school. More than a hundred people died, most of them children." He stopped. "I was dug out of the school alive. I was eight years old at the time. But half the children in my class died – including the boy sitting next to me." He paused. "You don't forget – you never forget. But you have to try and move on."

He looked directly at Danny. "There's always a light at the end of the tunnel. It may not seem like there is to you now. But there will be."

Danny's eyes were full of tears and for a moment he couldn't speak. The kindness of this stranger overwhelmed him. He didn't know him, had never met him before, and probably never would again – yet here he was, treating Danny with far more kindness than those throughout his life whom he would naturally have hoped would have done so, and who instead had hurt him so much.

When he could trust his voice again, Danny whispered,

"Look, I…I'd better go. I…I'm sorry to have been so much trouble."

"No trouble at all."

"Thanks for talking to me. Say…what's your name?"

"Richards. Gethin Richards."

"I'm Danny Taylor. Thanks…for listening."

"You take care of yourself."

Danny walked away. The man's words rang in his ears. _There's always a light at the end of the tunnel. _And during the next few weeks, during his darkest days, he would remember them and draw comfort from them and the gentle Welsh man who had been there for him when he had needed a kindly light.

Just at that moment, though, he didn't want to reach out and take it. He could only focus on the present. He still needed to numb the pain so it would go away forever.

I need a drink.

_NO._

I need a drink.

_No, Danny._

I need to just take away this pain…

_NO. DANNY! You haven't had a drink for ten years._

It hurts so much…

_You haven't needed to drink. _

You haven't been hurt like I have. It's always something. Raphie…HER…

_You DON'T need one now. DON'T give in to temptation. _

It's just one more thing…

_If you do, it'll be a slippery slope…_

Why did the voices sound so like Jack, Vivian and Martin? Why could he now see their faces?

_Because they care about you. Even after all that's happened, they still love you and care for you. And you know they always will._

Tears spilled over and ran down Danny's cheeks. "I don't deserve them."

_Yes, you do. You're one of the kindest, most loving people in the world, Danny Taylor. So many people care about you._

"THEN WHY DO SO MANY OF THEM TURN AGAINST ME AND HURT ME?"

He walked on, hardly knowing where he was going, just needing to keep moving, to walk the pain and emotion out of his system. He remembered passing a pleasant-looking diner as he had driven down here. He felt sure he could just sit in its warmth and comfort...

But where was it? He couldn't see it in the immediate vicinity. It must be further away than he thought. Blindly, he continued to stumble along the sidewalk. He lost count of the number of blocks he passed and the corners he turned before he lighted on it.

"TRAINOR'S BAR AND GRILL."

Thankfully, Danny stumbled inside.

If he had been thinking clearly, he would have realised the diner was familiar, that he had visited it before and remembered why – but, that evening, such thoughts were far from poor Danny's mind. He sat down at the bar. A man in his late forties who was probably the owner, approached him.

"Good evening, sir; how may I help you?"

_You can't. There's no-one who ever can. But…_

Danny took a shaky but deep breath.

"May I have a Jack Daniels, please?"

The irony of the name struck him; it should have warned him. But, he needed it…

"Certainly, sir." The man picked up a glass and reached for the appropriate bottle. He pressed out the shot, withdrew the glass and placed it on the bar in front of Danny.

Danny stared at the glass of whisky. He could hardly believe what he had done: bought alcohol for the first time in nearly ten years. As he surveyed the brown, wood-scented liquid, he barely heard the man asking for the money. Distractedly, he handed over a bill.

And, yet, still he hesitated. Devastated though he was, his conscience pricked at him. If he did, he knew, he would be letting down so many people. He didn't really want to do that. He didn't want to upset them, those few people in his life who had genuinely cared about him. But, they weren't suffering the way he was. They hadn't had so much go wrong for them and now, this one more thing. He just needed to escape, if only for a while…

"I'm sorry," Danny whispered. His hand moved near to and closed round the glass.

In his mind, he could still see Jack's, Vivian's and Martin's faces; they were full of concern, imploring him not to…

"Danny, please…"

If you drink, it means she's won_…_

"_I bet the poor guy was gutted."_

Please don't hurt me any more. Please stop.

"_Oh, he was. Cried like a baby, apparently. Cried like a baby…like a baby…"_

Pain…emotional pain so great that he only felt numbness. But, it would come out later…His head began to spin and his eyes hurt.

_Make it stop…please, make it stop…_

Slowly, he lifted the glass. Slowly, he brought it towards him…

"_No, Danny," pleaded Martin._

"_No, Danny," pleaded Vivian._

"_No, Danny!" commanded Jack._

Danny put the glass to his lips and drained it.

The long-forgotten, warm, relaxing and comforting sensation, spreading through his body, numbing his pain. He wanted more…more…

"_DANNY. NO!"_

Reggie Johnson sat in a booth at Trainor's Bar and Grill, a glass of grapefruit juice in front of him. Reggie was nineteen, a freshman at college and the son and only child of Special Agent Vivian Johnson and her husband Marcus.

He was waiting for his friend Joshua; they were going to have a drink together then dinner, here or somewhere else if the fancy took them.

Reggie glanced down at the glass in front of him. Perhaps a Coke next. He smiled slightly. His mother would be pleased with him. Some of his friends and, he had to admit, he himself, had pronounced views on the 21-only law about purchasing alcohol – but, his mother's words echoed in his mind:

"_You may think it's a crazy law, son, but it's the law, and I don't want you breaking it."_

With a grin, Reggie wondered whether he was more worried about being in trouble with the law or with his mother.

His eyes scanned the bar on the other side of the room; not many people there at the moment but it was still only late afternoon. Two men in their fifties, clearly office workers, and another, younger, man with black hair and sticking-out ears at the corner of the bar with his back to Reggie.

Sticking-out ears…Of course. Reggie recognised Special Agent Danny Taylor, one of his mother's co-workers. Reggie had met Danny on several occasions and there had been the running tease for years about Danny's sticking-out ears, much, perhaps surprisingly, to Danny's approval; he was, in fact, most proud of his ears because, he said, they made him look younger and more boyish.

Danny had a half-full glass of whisky in front of him and, as Reggie watched, he leaned forward and rose slightly to speak to the bartender. Reggie could see Danny's face clearly and he could hear him ordering another whisky – a double this time.

At that moment, and he never knew why it happened, Reggie was struck with an uncomfortable, gut feeling.

Much to the amusement of his parents, Reggie had become an avid fan of the 1970s cop show 'Starsky and Hutch'. He had watched many of the eighty episodes on a digital channel and, most recently, he had watched the pilot tv movie of the series. And, it was a scene near the middle of the film of which he was reminded at this moment. Hutch had just watched a crook being discharged from his police cell, and he confided to Starsky afterwards, _"He did something, he said something that wasn't right. I'll be damned if I know what it is. But I saw it. I was there and I saw it."_

And, this was the case with Reggie now. There was something about all this, something about Danny here, that was not quite right.

The bartender returned with Danny's drink and placed the glass crisply on to the bar in front of him. Danny took a note from his wallet to pay, then delved into his trouser pocket to find some change. A couple of coins dropped on to the floor. As he bent down to pick up his money, Reggie noticed Danny staggered slightly and almost over-balanced, as if he were slightly drunk. Righting himself on the bar stool, Reggie heard Danny comment to the barman, "Sorry…think I've had a few too many...I'm not really used to it…"

"_Not really used to it…"_

That's it.

_Danny doesn't drink._

At that moment, the door swung open with a yee-yaw and in walked Reggie's friend Joshua. His eyes scanned the bar for Reggie and, spotting him in the booth, walked over.

"Hey, buddy." They touched knuckles, their usual gesture of affection.

"Hey, brother." Joshua sat down opposite Reggie, who continued to look across the room at Danny. "How're you doing?"

"Fine…" Reggie answered, marginally distracted. Then, "You see that guy over there at the bar? The one with the black hair?"

Joshua turned round to look. "Yeh?"

"I know him. He works with my mom. But, he doesn't drink. He was an addict once but he kicked it – he told me. He's been sitting there downing whiskies."

Joshua shrugged. "Perhaps something or someone's upset him."

Just then, Danny happened to turn his head. His gaze fell on the two boys and a look of recognition appeared on his face. Awkwardly, he slid off his bar stool and walked unsteadily towards them. Reggie and Joshua regarded each other apprehensively.

"Hi there," Danny greeted them, slurring his words. "It's Reggie, isn't it? You're Vivian's son."

"Yes," answered Reggie, a trifle uneasily. Trying to diffuse the situation a little, he added, "This is my old school friend, Joshua."

"PLEASED…to meet you, Joshua," was Danny's reply. "I'm Special Agent Danny Taylor. I work at – sorry, I work for the FBI, in the Person's Missing Department – no, sorry, Missing Person's Department -"

_This guy is really drunk_, thought Joshua. He glanced worriedly at Reggie.

"You're off-duty now?" Joshua asked lightly.

"No. Yes – well, I was," slurred Danny. He moved towards the two boys and put his arms around their shoulders. "Let me give you both a piece of advice. Steer well clear of women. They use you, lie to you, screw you, then dump you. And don't ever get married. Because you find out they're not the person you thought they were. Oh – except your mom, Reggie. She's a real lady. I wish they were all like her." Danny stood up. "Anyway – I'd better leave you two in peace. Enjoy your evening." The two boys watched as he almost staggered back across the room and plonked himself back down on his stool.

Reggie reached for his cell 'phone. "I'm going to call Mom. D'you mind?"

Joshua shook his head. "Not at all. That poor guy needs help." Reggie dialled a familiar number.

"Hello, Reggie!"

"Hi, Mom."

"Where are you?"

"In Trainor's Bar, with Josh."

"Oh yes? I hope you two boys aren't drinking anything you shouldn't be."

Reggie laughed shortly. "No, I'm on grapefruit juice…Mom, Danny Taylor's here. He's sitting at the bar - and he's drinking."

There was silence from Vivian. Then, in a questioning tone, "Drinking?"

"Yes. I've been here about half-an-hour and he's been there all that time, knocking back whiskies like they're water. I thought he never drank alcohol."

"He doesn't." Vivian's voice sounded a hint of concern. "Where did you say you were?"

"At Trainor's Bar and Grill."

"That's nowhere near where he was supposed to be," Vivian replied, perplexed. "He was supposed to be over a mile away, in another bar…Has he said anything to you?"

"Yes…he just came over and spoke to us. Said something about we should never trust women because they're not who they seem to be…He's really drunk, Mom." Reggie could not keep the worry out of his voice.

Vivian made a decision. "Look, son, don't worry, just stay where you are. I'll send Jack or Martin down there right away. They should be around twenty minutes."

"Thanks, Mom, see you later."

"So long."

Vivian snapped her 'phone shut. She turned to face her two co-workers.

"That was Reggie. He's down in Trainor's Bar and Grill with his friend. He says Danny's there and he's drinking."

Jack and Martin exchanged worried glances.

Reggie and Joshua were tucking into their burgers with enjoyment, but Reggie was keeping half an eye on Danny. The more he thought about it, the more he recalled of what his mother had recounted of Danny's past alcoholism. Such was the impact it had had on his life that he had taken the pledge and been completely teetotal for the past ten years. Something really serious must have happened now to make him revoke it.

Still sitting up at the bar, Danny drained his glass for the eighth time. His head was swimming and the room was starting to spin. _I need some_ _air_…He half-stepped, half-slid off his bar stool - and almost landed on top of a tall man who was approaching the bar from the other direction. The other man was carrying a glass and, on the impact, its contents spilled over Danny.

"Watch where you're going!" Danny snarled.

"I'm sorry," replied the other man, genuinely contrite. He was another Latino, tall, dark, fairly well built, with brown eyes and a slightly protruding jaw. He spoke with a Spanish accent.

"So you should be!" Danny retaliated. _No…don't do this…don't get into an argument…_

The man looked bewildered. "Hey, man, I said I'm sorry. It was an accident. And in actual fact, you went into me."

Danny felt the drink firing his temper. _No…calm it…_Slowly but determinedly, he stood up. "I'm g-going to send you m-my dry-cleaning bill. What's your name and address?"

The man stared at Danny. "Who d'you think you are, man?

_I don't know. I don't know any more…_Danny tried to articulate a reply but his head swam like a river, he was seeing double and he was swaying on his feet. "I…I…I'm Special Agent Danny Taylor…o-of the F-B-I…"

The man shook his head incredulously.

"Well – if you're an FBI Special Agent, then I'm Cesar Chavez. I'm going to report you to your superiors, man, for being drunk on duty, and making false accusations against innocent people. It's a disgrace. And you want to control that temper of yours."

Bang.

Danny swung out and punched the man hard on the cheek-bone. Caught by surprise, the other man staggered back with the impact, almost losing his footing. Filled with a rage he could not check, Danny hit out with his fists, again, and again…Several women screamed. Reggie and Joshua turned round. Hearing the commotion, the bar owner came out from the back. In an effort to defend himself, the other man pushed Danny away but now, quite out of control, Danny pushed the man right over, into a nearby dining table, and was on top of him like an animal, fighting for all he was worth. Frightened, Reggie felt for his cell 'phone.

Martin, beating along the street with Jack, answered his 'phone as it rang. He listened and responded to the caller, then snapped the 'phone shut. "Jack, that was Viv. Reggie called – Danny's just hit someone."

The two men started to run.

Shaking, Joshua moved round to sit beside Reggie. Like his friend, he came from a peaceable home – his father was a pastor – and physical violence was foreign to him. Both boys hoped help wouldn't be long coming…

At that moment, the door of the diner burst open. Jack and Martin entered – to be confronted by the sight of their co-worker, pinning down another man on the floor, hitting him uncontrollably…They moved straight into action. Jack, thoroughly used to dealing with difficult customers, grabbed Danny and pulled him off the other man. Danny, his arms flailing and his nose bleeding, struggled to get free but Jack, though the smaller man, held him firm. "Danny! Danny, calm down. Calm down…" Martin helped up the other man, who had face and head injuries, and eased him on to a seat. Still enraged, Danny tried to break free but Jack's firm grasp would not allow him. Martin, making sure the other man was settled, moved over swiftly and held his friend gently by the upper arms. "Danny! Danny, it's all right, buddy. All right…" Martin's presence seemed to pacify Danny and his anger slowly started to subside. Danny put his hand up to his face; withdrawing it, there was his own blood. Normally, he would have cared as little for a bleeding nose as for a fly - but, this time, it was different. All the drink he had consumed, all the cigarettes he had smoked, his own blood on his hand…a sudden wave of nausea hit him. Danny retched hard then barfed copiously all over the floor.


End file.
